


talk me down

by ava_kay



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Based On a Troye Sivan Song, Cuddling, Depression, M/M, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:59:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_kay/pseuds/ava_kay
Summary: It's the same deal every time—Newt gets that sinking feeling in his chest, he spirals, and he can't be alone. That's where Thomas comes in. Newt knows Thomas is in love with him, but he's always the one he calls. But when will Thomas' patience run out?AKA, an AU inspired by Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan where all Newt wants is to sleep next to Thomas to keep things from getting too real. But he can't avoid reality, or help, forever.TW: themes of depression, panic attacks and somewhat of a dissociative episode
Relationships: Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 154





	talk me down

**Author's Note:**

> dt the number one talk me down stan

“Newt?”

“Yes?”

Thomas’ breath is warm and heavy on Newt’s shoulder. For someone who despises physical contact with a passion, Newt isn’t minding it so much. Well, he’s very aware of it. Every brush of Thomas’ hands against his side or back, Thomas’ knee up against the back of Newt’s leg, his voice vibrating through Newt’s chest—it’s filling Newt’s head. That’s a good thing, right now. A different sort of worry.

“Why did you call me?” Thomas asks. Nothing about the sleepiness in his voice seems genuine. Like he wanted to appear more casual than he actually is to ask this question that is anything but casual.

This is a question with many answers. Some are answers that Thomas would want to hear that Newt can’t say. That doesn’t mean they aren’t true, but he doesn’t want to think that far ahead. Some are answers that may come off as hurtful. He can’t say those either. There must be a middle ground. Something that isn’t a lie, but not so truthful. Deep. Real.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Newt says. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing his energy on not tensing up. 

“You know, I could help. We can talk about it,” Thomas says. There’s never an edge to his voice when it comes to Newt. Just like his touch, it’s only ever soft. 

“That’s alright,” Newt says. He times his breathing to Thomas’. Maybe then, he won’t notice Newt’s heartbeat. “Thank you, though.”

Thomas hums. His forehead rests itself against the back of Newt’s neck, floppy hair tickling the skin. He’s warm; his hands especially. One of them finds Newt’s own, their fingers intertwining. Newt’s hand is a brick of ice, and Thomas squeezes it, probably attempting to thaw it out. He’s sure he won’t let go until they’ve found a nice balance. 

“Why…” Thomas starts, voice muffled and small. “Why me?”

This is maybe the fourth time in a month that Newt’s done this. He paces around his room, chest filled with a weight he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how much crying he does. He’ll try everything. Breathing deep, sleeping, screaming, listening to music, distractions—the classics. None of them work. Then, the panic. Some nights, he can’t be alone. There’s no reasonable explanation for why. None that he wants to give, anyway.

But why is it Thomas that he calls? Why is it Thomas’ number that his shaky fingers find as he fumbles with his blurry phone?

“You make me feel safe.”

Thomas doesn’t waste any time nodding. That answer will have to do for now. Anything else would require real thought. 

Maybe twenty minutes go by with an increasingly deafening silence. Newt breaks it, surprising even himself. He doesn’t want Thomas to fall asleep on him just yet. “You don’t think I’m using you, right?”

“Hm?” Thomas asks. “Using me? No.”

“Because I’m not,” Newt says. His fingers are limp in Thomas’ hand. If Thomas wants to let go, he can. So far, he isn’t budging. 

“I’d never think something like that about you.”

“You can go home if you want to. I’m sorry I made you come all the way over here for such a stupid rea—”

“Newt.” Newt pauses, so Thomas continues. “I care about you a lot. Same way you care about me. I just want to help, and if all you want is company, I’m more than happy to offer mine.”

There’s a beat where Newt lets his words sink in. Well, more like he just wants Thomas to think they are. He appreciates the sentiment more than Thomas knows, but again, it’s too real. Sometimes, things don’t feel real. That’s a terrifying sensation, but at the same time, what’s the alternative? 

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“It’s no problem at all. I mean that.”

“I know. Thank you.” He doesn’t know. But that keeps the conversation from going further. 

“Did you want me to go when you fall asleep?”

Now it’s Newt’s turn to hum. “Not really.”

“Alright. That’s fine,” Thomas says.

Before he knows it, Newt is nodding off, Thomas’ arm wrapped protectively around him. 

  
  
  
  


In and out. In and out. God, it hurts. This can’t be natural for Newt to be feeling. For  _ anyone  _ to be feeling. His dad is out, so he’s alone in the house. Alone to pace between the rooms, searching for anything to occupy even the tiniest bit of his brain. He passes a mirror and catches a glimpse of his hair, disheveled from pulling at it. His eyes and nose are a dead giveaway for his state alone. 

“Are you kidding me,” Newt says to nobody in particular, shaking his arms like it’ll get rid of the feeling. 

His phone is resting on the counter, lit up with a text from Minho. Maybe he should collect himself and call him. Just talk about anything, or invite him over to play video games. He can’t bother Thomas again. At this point, isn’t it borderline manipulative?

But his fingers itch to press Thomas’ number. To ask him to drop everything and come over like he knows he will. Thomas isn’t even shy about it. Everyone knows as well as Newt does that Thomas is in love with him. 

He’ll be expecting something, won’t he? How many times can Newt invite him over to basically cuddle before he’s fed up? Thomas never makes a move. Never even mentions it. Not when Newt calls him all choked up. Newt’s grateful. He doesn’t understand why Thomas would have feelings for him, but he’s grateful. But that’s why he comes over. That patience won’t last forever. 

“Hello?”

Newt blinks. When did he even pick up his phone? “Uh, Tommy… How are you?”

“Want me to tell you about it in person?” Thomas asks.

“I…”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

And that’s it. The line goes dead, and in some ways, a little of the weight lifts off of Newt. Soon, he won’t be alone. Thomas will be here, hopefully talking up a storm about nonsense. But it doesn’t change the fact that Newt is an awful person for using him like this. 

Ten minutes. He utilizes it, fixing his hair and washing his face in the bathroom. While he’s at it, he brushes his teeth. Changes the shirt he’s been in since yesterday. Busywork. The things he doesn’t otherwise feel are obligatory. Thomas is coming over. There’s his reason.

Thomas, of course, is true to his word. A year-long ten minutes later, there’s a knock at Newt’s front door. Newt’s legs carry him toward it, bare feet against the hardwood floor. His eyes are trained on it. Knocking. Floor. Door. Handle. A rush of cold air from outside.

It’s impossible to say who’s more shocked when Newt rushes forward, grabbing Thomas’ face in his hands and pressing their lips together. He takes a moment to respond, but he kisses Newt back as he walks them into the house, rushed and sloppy. 

Newt’s head is empty when Thomas pulls back, shutting the door behind them. He goes to continue the kiss, but Thomas’ hand is on his chest, holding him back. “Newt, what the fuck?”

The anger in his voice throws Newt off-kilter. He’s never held even the mildest temper with him before. “I-I thought you—”

“Thought I what?” Thomas asks, hand unrelenting, keeping them apart. 

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Newt says, embarrassment heating his face up. Should he be upset? Apologetic? Mad? He has no idea. If any emotion could stir up in him, good or bad, that’d be great. 

“Not like this,” Thomas says, shaking his head. Finally, he takes his hand back, running it through his hair. “Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you kissed me.”

Newt has no clue. “I thought you wanted… You’ve been really good to me, and I thought—”

“What? You thought that because I’ve been a good friend to you that you needed to do that?” Thomas asks. His tone has softened, and Newt knows it’s a genuine question. 

But somehow, defensiveness flares up in him. “Well, I don’t know, Thomas! I ask you to come over and you drop everything and get nothing in return. So forgive me for assuming that’s what you wanted instead of me just using you all the time.”

“Jesus Christ, Newt,” Thomas says, shaking his head. “You think that’s using me? Asking someone who cares about you to come over and keep you company when you need it?”

Newt pauses. He can stop arguing here. Let Thomas’ words wash over him, see his point, and digress. But his brain won’t let him do that. Not when the argument is filling him with something. In the moment, the heat feels good. “When you have feelings for me? Why the hell else would you be coming over? How is that not using you when I know how you feel?”

_ “This  _ would be using me!” Thomas says, gesturing between them. “If you and I hooked up now, that’s when we’d have a problem. I’m not doing that. I want to be here as your friend, believe it or not. Is it really so hard to believe that I genuinely care about you and want you to be alright?” 

Of all the times Thomas has come over to comfort him, Newt has not once cried in front of him. It’s been something he just refuses to do. By the time he’s here, Newt is usually numb anyway.

So as Newt breaks down in front of Thomas, tears coming on faster than he can register them, neither of them is sure of what to do. Newt’s chest shakes with sobs, and Thomas doesn’t hesitate for more than five seconds before pulling him into a hug. 

Maybe purely for the opportunity to hide his face, Newt hugs back, very aware of how wet he’s making Thomas’ cushiony jacket. Thomas rubs Newt’s back, and Newt shakes his head like it’ll make him stop crying. 

“It’s alright,” Thomas says. 

It’s not alright. But Newt can’t talk while he’s crying, so he only holds Thomas tighter.

He holds him for a while, his grip not letting up once. It feels like he could stay there like that with Newt for a century, but when things get too still and silent, Newt breaks away, wiping at his eyes. 

“I’m staying over, whether you want me to or not,” Thomas says. 

Newt coughs, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his shirt’s sleeve. “I know what you’re doing, and you don’t have to.”

“I’m not  _ doing  _ anything. But I am making you talk,” Thomas says. Newt can’t bring himself to look him in the eyes.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I don’t buy that. You think you owe me something? Well, you owe me this. All these times, this is the only thing I’ve wanted from you.” 

Newt’s lungs are running on half-empty. They won’t fill, no matter how hard he tries. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that when I don’t understand it either.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together.”

The floor stares up at Newt, all solid and real, harsh material protecting him from whatever lies underneath. What’s even below him? Dirt? Earth? Stone? He doesn’t know. But it could swallow him up without this floor. He walks across it, almost like testing its sturdiness, and he ends up on the couch, pulling his feet under him. 

Thomas is cautious sitting beside him, like he’s trying not to scare him off. He’s walking on breakable eggshells with a breakable boy. Newt’s laugh is absent of humor. “I don’t feel like I’m here.”

“In what way?” Thomas is doe-eyed, body turned toward Newt’s own. 

“None of this feels real. Sometimes. Not all the time. But when I’m alone, when I’m thinking, it’s like I’m not here and I’m  _ too  _ here at the same time. My chest hurts, and I’m cold inside and I can’t fix it. So I call you, and we sit together, and I think about that, then when I wake up, sometimes I’m not so bad. I can go about my day, stay busy. But it’s always in the back of my mind.” His delivery is flat, and he searches Thomas’ face as he speaks. There isn’t much thought put behind it, because if there was, he’d just repeat that scene from before. 

Thomas looks wounded. Not offended or mad, but wounded. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

“Of course not,” Newt says, wiping his eyes. 

“You can get help for this, you know. This is more common than you think it is. I can help too,” Thomas says. It’s so sincere. Newt smiles.

“Sometimes I like feeling like things aren’t real. Like I can choose what is and isn’t. You’re real. Not always what you say, but you are. And I don’t want to hurt you,” Newt says. 

He can tell his smile looks more hollow than it feels by Thomas’ expression. “Why would you hurt me?”

Newt exhales. Inhales. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to,” Thomas says without missing a beat. “I don’t expect anything from you, and if I made you feel—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t,” Newt says. “I did. It’s not like I only did it because… I…”

“You don’t need to give me an explanation, Newt.”

“But I want to,” Newt says. “I don’t not like you. But if I don’t even feel real, how am I going to do that to you? Get close to you and hurt you like that?”

Thomas frowns. “That’s not what I’m concerned about. I don’t care if you like me. Let’s take that away from this, okay? Can we do that?”

Newt nods. 

“Alright,” Thomas says. “Now, I already am close to you. That’s not going away. But the only thing you can do now to not hurt me is to work with me.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“But you can.” Thomas’ eyes are brimming with tears. Newt’s already messed this up. 

“See?” Newt asks, gesturing to Thomas’ face. “This is what happens. Thank you for caring, but I’ll deal with this on my own.”

Thomas opens his mouth, then closes it. Then, he takes Newt’s hand. He’s careful about it, which is why Newt lets him. “Test my patience all you want, it’s not running out.”

“And what if nothing can be done for me? What then?” Newt asks, voice just above a whisper. 

Thomas squeezes his hand. “I’ve never been more confident in my life that something isn’t true. You say nothing feels real, right? Things feel real to me. I know you can get better. That’s real.”

“How?” Newt asks.

“We’ll do it together. You can’t just distract yourself forever,” Thomas says. “But you have to want to. This won’t work if you’re not in it with me.”

How can he be when forever was never even on Newt’s mind? He wants to get better, but it never looked possible. Really, it still feels like a fantasy. It baffles him that Thomas is normal. The way anyone is normal when he’s like this. Where did he go wrong? 

“You really want to help?”

“Really. More than anything.”

Newt shakes his head. Maybe Thomas isn’t real after all. Though, he wants to believe he is. That someone like this could want something better for someone like Newt. 

“Okay.”

  
  
  
  


Thomas always sleeps over on therapy days. His first question upon walking in is always “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Sometimes, Newt does. If something is on his mind—something that he realized, something that annoyed him about it, or something he thinks Thomas will be proud of—from the session, he’ll share. Other times, he’ll just shake his head, and Thomas knows it’s his cue to distract him. 

Thomas was there, waiting in the other room while Newt spoke to his father about going. He made up a reason to go since he’s not the type to waste money on getting his son help for a problem he doesn’t believe exists. Newt mulled it over for days before landing on school. If he’s going to go to college, he’ll need to go to a therapist to be successful as a psychology major, since it was required anyway. He lied his way through the spiel until his father agreed. He’d drive himself. No problem.

Well, besides the last roadblock. Newt. It took an hour for Thomas to convince him to go to his first appointment. A whole night to convince him to go to his second. Newt got to his third appointment on his own accord. 

Thomas is sitting on the couch waiting for Newt when he gets out of the shower. His clothes cling to his body as he walks into the kitchen, glancing at Thomas. “Want something?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine too,” Newt says, flicking the kettle on. 

“You’re cold?” Thomas asks. 

Newt takes down a box of tea bags, nodding. “Decently.”

Therapy has helped. It’s not a miracle, but it’s helped. When he feels this, the emptiness, he knows what it is. Not so much how to get rid of it, but Dr. Reynor says she’ll help him manage it. 

“Was it good today at least?” Thomas asks. 

The water in the kettle begins to bubble, steam rising from the top. “I’m just a bit tired, I guess. In Reynor’s words, there’s a lot to unpack. And she’s the only person in the world who loves unpacking.”

Thomas laughs. He’s gotten used to Newt’s dry attempts at humor now, and Newt appreciates it. “Productive, then?”

“Kind of.” She never lets Newt walk away without easing his mind, at least. Thomas waited for him in the waiting room at the first session, and as she walked out, Thomas stopped her and told her all about the kind of person he thinks Newt is. That he bottles things up, and won’t be honest with how he feels and will say things to end the conversation. Of course, he was right, but he heard it from Newt in the car ride back to his house. 

“Good. What do you want to do tonight?” Thomas asks. 

Newt pours the hot water into his ready mug, feeling the warmth spread through his hand and onto his face. This will be good. His favorite tea, a comfortable sweater, Thomas beside him. It’s good. He’s good. 

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

They talked about Thomas today. It was brief, but Newt was talking about how he felt when he’d call him. Then, he talked about their conversation. How Newt is afraid of hurting Thomas. Dr. Reynor makes Newt feel a little more real. She makes Newt’s place in Thomas’ life feel more real. 

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” Newt says. Thomas gives him a smile, but Newt’s not done. “I know I can be a handful. But I know you want to be here, and I appreciate it.”

Thomas nods. “Come here.”

Newt obliges. Thomas takes his mug from him as he sits down, setting it on the coffee table before pulling Newt into a hug. He welcomes it, leaning into it right away. With Thomas, he’s alright. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Thomas says into Newt’s shoulder. 

“I haven’t done much,” Newt says. 

Thomas pulls away, but that’s alright. Being beside him is enough. “You know that’s not true.”

He does. This conversation is real, and he’s having it. Newt picks up his real mug in his real house and burns his real tongue, sucking in a real breath of air.

“I’ll get there.”

  
  
  
  


“Why do you think you wanted to push Thomas away?” Dr. Reynor asks.

Newt doesn’t have to think about his answer. If he did, it’d come out as a lie. “I wanted to protect him.”

“From you?”

“From me.”

“What were you going to do to him?”

“I knew I was going to hurt him.”

“How?”

Newt sighs. “If I got close to him being this broken and distant, what would that do to him? He doesn’t deserve that.”

“But you  _ are  _ close to him, aren’t you?” 

He hates it when she makes good points. But, he’s also rather argumentative, so he buys into it anyway. “I am, but with the way he feels about me, I wasn’t about to start something that’d hurt him more in the end.”

“I think you’re thinking from the standpoint that you aren’t going to get better. I’m glad you’re choosing to look after yourself first, that’s the right thing to do, but you need to allow support in. He seems like he’s supportive. You said he makes you feel safe? Hold onto things like that. Now, what else makes you feel safe?”

Newt ignores the question. “So, what? You’re telling me to be with Thomas?”

“That’s not what I’m telling you at all,” Dr. Reynor says. “I’m telling you not to push away help. If hurting him is what you’re scared of, then you’re doing the right thing being here. Relationships can come once you’re in a better place. You’ll know when that is.”

Newt falls silent. A better place. How long will that take?

  
  
  
  


Thomas should be dating some nice guy that will give him all of his attention. Someone that’s emotionally available. Someone that isn’t Newt. Of course, that would mean he probably couldn’t sleep with Newt in his bed anymore. Or hold hands with him on the couch. Or even come over as often. He’d be busy.

Maybe that’s why Newt can’t bring himself to let him go. To say, “Hey Thomas, you know you shouldn’t wait for me right? You can branch out, date someone, be happy.” It pops into his head every time he nuzzles into Thomas’ chest. Every time Thomas rubs his back, helping him breathe a little easier. 

Newt’s been feeling more. Those emotions make him upset. He can pick out his good moods. When he’s mad, he knows why. His smiles aren’t so fake, because he stopped trying to feel things he wasn’t.

And Thomas is there. So supportive, always patient, always caring. No matter how off of a day Newt is having, he’s there.

“Are you happy, Tommy?” Newt asks him as they lay in bed. 

“Me? Why?” Thomas asks. He’s a cuddly one. His arm is stretched across Newt’s torso, and Newt, with no other choice, put his arm around him. 

“I don’t ask you enough,” Newt says. A part of him that’s bigger than he’d care to admit longs to be closer to Thomas. He stays still. “I want to know, you know.”

“Oh,” Thomas says. “I’m happy. Granted, a little stressed over school, but content.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Do you want to talk about school?” Newt asks. He used to be like that. The questions come naturally to him. Before he got bad, he was the supportive friend. People liked him for it. 

“It’s just a little hectic. AP sucks. Bio sucks. My brain can get crowded with that stuff. That’s why it’s nice to just chill here with you,” Thomas says. 

“You mean that?” Newt asks. 

“It’s a whirlwind of worrying about my future all day, and then I get to come here and unwind. So yeah, I’m happy.” They’re silent for a minute until Thomas tilts his head up at Newt. “Newt, your heart is beating really fast, what’s wrong?”

Thomas can hear that? It  _ is  _ going fast. But Newt’s brain is running even faster.

“Promise you won’t wait for me.”

Thomas fully sits up now, Newt doing the same. While moving, Thomas took the blanket off of them. Newt is freezing.

“What?”

“You can’t wait for me.”

“I heard you, but what do you mean?”

Newt rubs his face. His fingers can’t feel it; his skin is like rubber. “You won’t be happy with this forever, and I don’t know how long it will take to get to a better place, so you need to promise that you won’t wait. You deserve better than that.”

“Newt, you’re shaking, just take a deep breath alright?”

“No, because if I think about this, I’ll take it back, and I can’t do that to you, I won’t hurt you, Thomas.” His bursts of air are short and quick, and Thomas just needs to agree to this one thing. He’ll agree and Newt won’t feel so guilty anymore. He’s off the hook. Thomas is free.

“Who said I was waiting for you?” Thomas asks. 

That’s not what he was supposed to say. “Just promise.”

“I’m not promising anything because it’s my decision. But I’m not waiting. Did you not just hear what I said? School is my priority right now, and getting better is yours,” Thomas says.

“So if someone comes along, I won’t be holding you back? You’ll do what makes you happy?” Newt asks.

Thomas doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he crawls back under the blanket. Newt lets him return to their previous position. He loves it. He loves doing this with Thomas, and he doesn’t want to hear the answer he’s asking him for.

“Yeah. I’ll do what makes me happy,” Thomas says. 

Newt reaches out for the warmth Thomas usually gives him, but everything he touches turns to ice. “Good.”

  
  
  
  


The next time Thomas is over, Newt isn’t sure how to go about it. Does he keep his distance? He wants the closeness. It’s all he can think about. And luckily, Thomas gives it to him. He puts his head on Newt’s shoulder on the couch, leaning into him. 

“Are you sure?” Newt asks.

“Positive,” Thomas says. 

And so they continue. Every day Thomas walks in that door, the back of Newt’s mind is wondering if today is the day Thomas will tell him he’s found someone else and they can’t spend time together anymore. He never asks. Thomas shows him. He’ll cuddle him or ask him about his day and Newt can relax. He’s not holding Thomas back.

His next episode comes on so suddenly and randomly, even Newt is taken aback. It’s been a while. He’s been doing alright, using the coping mechanisms Reynor has been teaching him. He can concentrate on school, he’s taking showers every day, he’s talkative and more grounded than he’s been in a long time. So why? Why now?

It hits him like a ton of bricks, doubling him over at his sink. Feel the tiles. The porcelain of the counter. His stomach lurches, and he closes his eyes. He ate today, right? He’s fine. Maybe he’s sick. Just too familiar.

Upright, he opens the bathroom door. His arm doesn’t want to work. It’s disconnected from his body. He’s doing so well. This can’t be it again. 

The TV is on. He’ll watch that. Clear his mind. The couch is soft. He’s on it, right? He can feel it, but only barely, like there’s a filter between what he touches and what reaches his senses. 

“Shit,” Newt mumbles. He hums. It vibrates his chest. “Okay, okay. I’m okay. What’s wrong? Nothing is wrong. I’m here.”

His chest aches. It spreads like a disease. 

“I can fix this. I’m getting better. I feel… sad. Why? I…”

Newt sits back, focusing on his breathing. This will only get worse. It won’t let up, like something is trapped in his insides, ripping things apart or taking them. He can’t tell. The world around him is still, but off its axis. 

Thomas. The name rings above everything else, worming its way into his consciousness. He needs Thomas. 

He grabs his phone, and it doesn’t take long to find Thomas’ name since he’s the only one he ever calls. 

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry,” Newt says. He’s not sure why, but then it’s out. 

“Sorry? What happened? What did you do?”

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry. Um. I’m not—I’m feeling that thing again.”

“Okay. I can be right over. Just relax, alright? Can you write things down until I get there?”

Writing things down. The journal Dr. Reynor gave him. He almost forgot. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Alright. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

There’s a silence on the other end that isn’t coming from an ended phonecall. It doesn’t even process for a moment. The phone becomes a bar of soap in Newt’s hand, and his face flushes. 

“I… I mean…”

“I’m going to hang up, but I’ll be there soon. Everything is fine. Write. See you in a few.”

The line goes dead, and Newt stares at the phone, eyes wide with mortification.  _ I love you?  _ Oh god, how does he explain that one away? It was a reflex, surely. Well, he never says that to people. Not even his father. 

He loves Thomas. That’s a given, he cares about his friend, but you don’t just  _ say  _ it like that. Not in that way. That was bigger. What must Thomas be thinking? He messed up. Big time. 

Thomas told him to write, but all he would write about now is telling his best friend he loves him and how utterly stupid he is. He needs to figure this out before Thomas gets here. What to say. A gameplan. 

Would saying it was a mistake be harsh? He just told Thomas not to wait for him. They can’t be together. Not now. Not when Newt is still like this. How can they just ignore the fact that Newt said I love you? Thomas should be running from him. Newt will only hurt him.

So that’s what Newt goes with when he opens the door for Thomas. 

“Newt, wha—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be here because I’m going to hurt you,” Newt says. His voice, even to his own ears, gives away how little he means that. 

Thomas pushes past him into the house. “Not this again.”

“What else am I going to do? I care about you too much to do this to you,” Newt says, eyes stinging. Thomas only takes off his jacket like Newt hadn’t been talking, tossing it on the back of a chair. He then takes off his shoes, proceeding to walk down the hallway. “Thomas?”

What’s he doing? Newt freezes in a stupor for a moment before following Thomas into his own bedroom, finding him sitting on the bed. 

“How you feel about me doesn’t change how I feel about you. And how I feel is that I want you to be alright. Love me or hate me, it doesn’t matter. Now, did you write in your journal?”

He’s a beautiful person, Thomas. The brown of his eyes shines gold in the lighting, his hair flops over his forehead, his cheeks are rosy from the cold as well as his turned-up nose, similar to his pink lips. He’s gorgeous. 

“I don’t know what I was upset about,” Newt says, disarmed. 

“We can figure that out,” Thomas says.

Newt is in love with him. He said it for a reason, and he has to physically stop the words from bubbling up and coming out a second time. He loves Thomas. But he can’t act on it now. Not when things can still go so wrong.

If he was saying this out loud, both Thomas and Reynor would ask what could go wrong. So many things. Newt could shut him out completely. Thomas could leave him and be lost to him forever. But…  _ what if something happened to Newt?  _

It’s the logic that twists his stomach and fills his eyes with tears. The part of him that Newt never unlocks, even to himself. What if something happened to Newt? The more distance he puts between himself and Thomas, the less hurt he’ll be in the end. It’s fair, right?

Newt chokes the words out, tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t care if Thomas sees him cry anymore. “I want to get better.”

Thomas pulls Newt onto the bed with him, who nuzzles his head into Thomas’ shoulder and never wants it to leave that spot. “I know. You will. Tonight isn’t a setback.”

“I’m getting worse.”

“You’re not. Breathe, alright?”

“I’m overwhelmed.”

“That’s right.” Thomas makes Newt turn to him, and eye contact with the boy you just accidentally confessed your love for is proving difficult. “Look at me. I’m real. We both are. You’re okay.”

They are real. Newt’s fingers find Thomas’ jawline and work their way up to his cheek, the skin soft and delicate. Miniscule moles litter the side of his face like stars that Newt traces, not daring to look at Thomas’ eyes. Though his lips are slightly parted, and Newt’s inclined to feel those too, but he refrains, falling just short. 

Thomas’ hand covers Newt’s own. It’s wider than his and strong. Newt wants to be as strong as Thomas. He deals with all this school stuff and never flinches. Nobody is better than him. Nobody is even good enough  _ for  _ him, least of all Newt. But god, does he want him. 

He wants to sleep next to him. To wake up to him. To share things with him. To hold his hand and let himself be guided through life by his side. Why can’t he have it? Shitty mental health? It seems unfair. A punishment, even. 

“I’m sorry about what I said on the phone,” Newt mumbles, still concentrated on the veins running through Thomas’ hand.

His hand curls a little tighter over Newts. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t even think about it.”

Newt shakes his head. “I’m sorry that I meant it.”

Thomas’ breath audibly hitches. Did Newt just say that out loud? He certainly didn’t mean to do that. Or maybe he did. He doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that he just said something he can’t take back to a boy he can’t have.

“Newt…”

How much more can he screw up in one night? Newt uses his hands as shields over his already closed eyes, cradling his aching head. Nothing will fix this. Thomas, his hero, his underlying motivation to keep going to these sessions, needs to get away from him. Now. 

“Get out, Tommy.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Newt’s eyes are void of any light as he finally looks up at Thomas. He’s crying. When he started, Newt doesn’t know. The kind of cry is unclear as well—is he sad? Frustrated? Angry? Hurt?

“Do I look kidding?” Newt can’t muster up a fraction of the venom he wants to put into the words.

Thomas laughs, wet and humorless. “I just don’t get any say ever? You’re going to keep hurting me by pushing me away to  _ avoid  _ hurting me? Who are you really protecting here?”

“I’m trying to protect  _ you.  _ Why would you want someone like me? I’m not getting any better, so you should just get on with it before I do this again,” Newt says. If Thomas wants a fight, he’ll get one.

“No. What you’re doing is sabotaging yourself because you don’t think you deserve to be happy. When did I ever say I was so desperate for a relationship? Why can’t you let me support you through this?” 

“Because, Thomas,” Newt starts, forcing every word out like they’re sucking the very will out of him, “I don’t want to disappoint you when I fail.”

“Fail?” Thomas asks, all hostility vanishing without a trace.

“Just go. Please.”

“Fine,” Thomas says. “In one hour.”

Newt doesn’t have it in him to argue that. He doesn’t want Thomas to leave ever. If this hour is the last he’ll get, he’s taking it. “Fine.”

Thomas nods. Then, he lies down on Newt’s bed. Old patterns have a way of repeating themselves. Newt falls right back into rhythm with him, positioning himself on his side for Thomas to rest his head on Newt’s back. He takes Thomas’ hand this time.

Minutes pass in eerily comfortable silence. A reel plays over and over in Newt’s head during that time. It’s a compilation; Thomas’ greatest hits, ending with his outburst from tonight. As much as Newt hates the anger, his heart steadies out. He was scared before. Overwhelmed. That’s all. From a few feet away, he can see it. Thomas was right. About all of it.

“Newt?”

“Yes?”

Thomas only wants to help. Maybe, after everything his father has said, that’s still too foreign of a concept to Newt. His case is unsolvable because to him, it’s not worthy of being solved. But Thomas and Dr. Reynor don’t seem to think he’s a lost cause. To them, he’s real. What’s the scarier reality? Pushing their help away, or accepting it and failing to get better? 

As Thomas said, Newt can’t keep distracting himself forever. Something needs to change. 

“You know I’m not leaving, right?”

Maybe, just maybe, letting help in will be worth it.

“Yeah, Tommy.” Newt’s chest fills with a warmth he’s only getting acquainted with. “I know.”


End file.
